Liamdudeftw

Pressed roses and carnations inside brown leather books Write to me in black wet ink so your words may last In restless ignorance I soon found myself, exhausted and shook Bruises don't linger to my skin but old bones will always crack It's a fresh kind of thrill to do just what you simply shouldn't Who knows what suspends the ceiling with all that it lacks No pillars, nor walls, and to imagine it, well, you couldn't But this is it, hail on skin, and frost in lungs, then into the floor you smack And the gale of the moment leads you in to a calming decent So let's try and not let this wither away and lets never holdback I'll listen to